We were in Oshkosh for three hours, and we managed to get arrested. We probably wouldn’t have been caught if Arabella wasn’t spewing out nonsense while we were in the Marketplace. It was a loud market, considering Oshkosh was a rather large city, and it was a busy day with plenty of people talking and shouting. The aisles made between booths were barely accessible due to the amount of customers and the occasional pickpocket darting in and out of the crowd. The amount of people hollering above everyone else’s voices made it hard to hear myself think, let alone hear the company in front of me, but there were enough people that overheard us. Plenty of people knew we were coming from Madison. Almost everyone that we talked to asked us where we were coming from, and every time I told them, “We came here from Madison.” They must have not liked my story, because everyone seemed to be suspicious of us, even before Arabella started telling us what was on her mind. I simply thought she was losing her mind from the concussion she received from the previous day, because she was saying how we all needed to get out of the city as soon as possible. She had a wild look in her eyes like something had scared her, and panic could be heard in her voice; despite how incoherent she sounded. She kept going on about how the Crawleys were after us, and how no one in this city could be trusted. All of this was happening while she was being withheld pain medications and suffering from an unusually long concussion and lack of sleep, so a hint of skepticism was understandable in my opinion. With that said, there was too much distress in her tone to just disregard it as an injured, sleep deprived person’s ramblings. I looked to my teammates, who seemed as alarmed as I was. Unfortunately for our situation, Miles and The Librarian felt it was appropriate to argue about what we could have done differently during our travels.
“I bet none of this would have happened if we didn’t try and fight the Crawleys in the first place.” The Librarian said in an accusatory tone toward Miles.
“Excuse me? You were just as ready to fight them as I was!” He shouted back at her.
“And look where fighting got us! Now people are looking for our heads!”
Reasoning with them at this point was futile; once they got started, it was nearly impossible to make them stop. Their argument rose to violent shouting, which didn’t do us any good in a food court packed with people who could hear every word. With the rising voices, it wasn’t long until two guards, who were alerted by our antics by some concerned civilians, came over and interrupted their discussion.
I quickly tried to take control of the situation and said, “Look, we’re here from Madison, and we’re just trying to find someone-“
“Do you have a problem with us?” Miles interjected. It would appear that my only purpose here is to be cut off. “I don’t believe we have done anything wrong, but I can give you a problem if you’re looking for one.” He said with his hand on his sword.
The taller of the two guards only blinked and said, “Come with us.”
The room we were brought to was really small. The space was tiny and grey; the walls were made of steel and no one had bothered to paint the walls a friendlier color. The tiles on the floor matched the wall color handsomely, sporting a lighter shade of cool grey. The bench we were instructed to sit was made of wood, and it looked like it was treated with some sort of sealer from how shiny it looked. I could see my shadow waver back and forth in length from the light bulb swinging in the middle of the room.
Miles had a look of disgust plastered across his face. For the past half hour, he spent his time complaining about how they had kept us in that room for such a long time. I swear that man was hell bent on announcing his frustration to the entire world, since his statements practically shook the foundation of the room. He wasn’t a very patient man, and this was made clear during our test of endurance and patience, as we waited for someone to come in to the room and ask us a few questions. All the while he kept glaring over at the Librarian, who sat stoically in her place. He looked as if he was going to start their argument up again, and I would have bet money that that would happen. But it looked like their discussion was reduced to cold stares and grimaces.
Arabella was visibly upset. She had her hands in fists and her shoulders were stiff, and she was looking around the room as if she was looking around for an alternative escape route that didn’t involve the door. She was mumbling to herself about getting out of the city, but any details were lost on me because of how quiet her voice was. She was swaying back and forth in her spot either because she was nervous, or because she was still woozy from the injuries she sustained.
I like to think I looked pretty composed sitting in my spot on the bench. I had my hands clasped together resting on my leg, and I was staring down at the ground. Instead of joining in with Miles and his ranting, I opted to keep my thoughts to myself. His powerful opinions were keeping my ideas at bay, and at this moment I think that might be why we’re in this spot in the first place. I can’t help but think that if we stopped for a minute and thought out what to do next instead of argue about it, we could have avoided getting arrested. Maybe I could have more input in the group if I said more than, “We came from Madison.”
Our test of patience was finally over when our interrogator walked in to the room and locked the door behind him. He sat down in the chair across from us and said, “Good afternoon, I’m here to ask you a few questions. Let’s start out with formalities. Where are you four coming from?”
Well, looks like I get to tell one more person that we’re from Madison.
I simply thought she was losing her mind from the concussion she received from the previous day, because she was saying how we all needed to get out of the city as soon as possible. She had a wild look in her eyes like something had scared her, and panic could be heard in her voice; despite how incoherent she sounded. She kept going on about how the Crawleys were after us, and how no one in this city could be trusted. All of this was happening while she was being withheld pain medications and suffering from an unusually long concussion and lack of sleep, so a hint of skepticism was understandable in my opinion. With that said, there was too much distress in her tone to just disregard it as an injured, sleep deprived person’s ramblings. I looked to my teammates, who seemed as alarmed as I was. Unfortunately for our situation, Miles and The Librarian felt it was appropriate to argue about what we could have done differently during our travels.
“I bet none of this would have happened if we didn’t try and fight the Crawleys in the first place.” The Librarian said in an accusatory tone toward Miles.
“Excuse me? You were just as ready to fight them as I was!” He shouted back at her.
“And look where fighting got us! Now people are looking for our heads!”
Reasoning with them at this point was futile; once they got started, it was nearly impossible to make them stop. Their argument rose to violent shouting, which didn’t do us any good in a food court packed with people who could hear every word. With the rising voices, it wasn’t long until two guards, who were alerted by our antics by some concerned civilians, came over and interrupted their discussion.
I quickly tried to take control of the situation and said, “Look, we’re here from Madison, and we’re just trying to find someone-“
“Do you have a problem with us?” Miles interjected. It would appear that my only purpose here is to be cut off. “I don’t believe we have done anything wrong, but I can give you a problem if you’re looking for one.” He said with his hand on his sword.
The taller of the two guards only blinked and said, “Come with us.”
The room we were brought to was really small. The space was tiny and grey; the walls were made of steel and no one had bothered to paint the walls a friendlier color. The tiles on the floor matched the wall color handsomely, sporting a lighter shade of cool grey. The bench we were instructed to sit was made of wood, and it looked like it was treated with some sort of sealer from how shiny it looked. I could see my shadow waver back and forth in length from the light bulb swinging in the middle of the room.
Miles had a look of disgust plastered across his face. For the past half hour, he spent his time complaining about how they had kept us in that room for such a long time. I swear that man was hell bent on announcing his frustration to the entire world, since his statements practically shook the foundation of the room. He wasn’t a very patient man, and this was made clear during our test of endurance and patience, as we waited for someone to come in to the room and ask us a few questions. All the while he kept glaring over at the Librarian, who sat stoically in her place. He looked as if he was going to start their argument up again, and I would have bet money that that would happen. But it looked like their discussion was reduced to cold stares and grimaces.
Arabella was visibly upset. She had her hands in fists and her shoulders were stiff, and she was looking around the room as if she was looking around for an alternative escape route that didn’t involve the door. She was mumbling to herself about getting out of the city, but any details were lost on me because of how quiet her voice was. She was swaying back and forth in her spot either because she was nervous, or because she was still woozy from the injuries she sustained.
I like to think I looked pretty composed sitting in my spot on the bench. I had my hands clasped together resting on my leg, and I was staring down at the ground. Instead of joining in with Miles and his ranting, I opted to keep my thoughts to myself. His powerful opinions were keeping my ideas at bay, and at this moment I think that might be why we’re in this spot in the first place. I can’t help but think that if we stopped for a minute and thought out what to do next instead of argue about it, we could have avoided getting arrested. Maybe I could have more input in the group if I said more than, “We came from Madison.”
Our test of patience was finally over when our interrogator walked in to the room and locked the door behind him. He sat down in the chair across from us and said, “Good afternoon, I’m here to ask you a few questions. Let’s start out with formalities. Where are you four coming from?”
Well, looks like I get to tell one more person that we’re from Madison.